


Page 304

by deltachye



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Asperger's, Autism, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Reader-Insert, Romance, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-27
Updated: 2017-01-13
Packaged: 2018-09-02 11:57:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 8,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8666557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deltachye/pseuds/deltachye
Summary: [reader x aspergers!wakatoshi ushijima]Love had never really had that much meaning to him. It was just a word on the 304th page of the dictionary and that was it. Until one day, he flipped to the 304th page and thought of you.





	1. 1; Lugubrious (a.)

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I have not personally experienced autism nor the habits or mannerisms of a person with Asperger's. There is meant to be no harm done in the portrayal and I highly welcome criticism if need be.

* * *

 

Something was always wrong whenever he was around.

He could see it in his parent’s eyes. His mother would lose her natural glow and get this stiff, pressed-lips smile that had no depth to it. His father looked the same but he wouldn’t talk as loudly anymore. But his grandmother didn’t hide it. His grandmother looked at him sadly and would say,

“It would be better for him if he were normal.”

Maybe his grandmother was right. Ushijima Wakatoshi just… didn’t _feel_ normal. He didn’t belong. He was a puzzle piece that had a wrong edge and no matter how hard you tried to fit it with the others, it wouldn’t click. He didn’t get things like the others got things. He didn't know why you waved to say hello and he didn’t know why you couldn’t ask certain things; say certain things; do certain things—he didn't know. It was like everybody else had been programmed the same way and the guy forgot to type the code into him.

It wasn’t just that. He didn’t just feel _different_ , he felt entirely isolated. As if everybody else were aliens and he was something else—or maybe they _were_ all humans and _he_ was the alien.

He was forgotten. He was different. He didn’t fit. And he didn’t like it.

“Try putting the pencil in your right hand, Wakatoshi!” his mother blurted out suddenly, snatching the marker out of his hand. She held it back to him and he took it with his left. The left felt normal. Whatever ‘normal’ was, since he apparently didn’t know. He didn’t know why his mother wanted him to try his right hand when his left hand felt stronger. His mother got that tight-lipped smile again but Ushijima ignored it, continuing to work on his drawing. It was the flowers he could see in the garden. The flowers couldn’t give him a tight-lipped smile, so he liked drawing them instead.

“Utsui’s late,” his grandmother chided coldly from her place at the table, sipping at her tea. His mother sighed and gave Ushijima another look that he avoided. He didn’t like meeting people’s eyes. Scratch that—he hated meeting people in general. He’d rather just be left alone.

“I heard he was bringing Wakatoshi to meet somebody after today,” his grandmother continued, probing his mother for information. His mother scowled slightly but nodded.

“Yes, Takashi’s family friend.” The response was curt and full of spite, emphasis hard on ‘family friend’. Ushijima did not recognize the tone and merely hoped that his father would forget to bring him along so that he wouldn’t have to face anybody but the flowers. He looked up to get their colours right and heard the crunching of gravel. He sat up as his father rounded the corner of the garden, brushing hair back nervously.

“I’m sorry for being late. There was a crash on the high—”

“Sit, Takashi.” His grandmother’s tone was pleasant, betraying none of the ice in her steel gun-metal eyes. “We should discuss custody quickly.”

“Yes, grandmother.” His father gave him a look and Ushijima ignored it. He looked blankly at the flowers, only vaguely aware of the pitiful gazes he was getting from everybody in the room.

 

\---

“Takashi! Long time no see, brother. You been scarce ‘round these parts.”

“Yeah, that’s my bad. I haven’t really been into volleyball after the surgery.” The man and his father embraced. Ushijima watched with careful eyes. He didn’t care for why they were hugging, but he made a mental note of what it looked like. Behind the man stood a small child, about his age, her hands shoved deep into the pockets of her skirt. Her red lips were puckered in a big frown. Ushijima wondered why she looked so uncomfortable despite the warm weather.

“Oh! Right. Roy, this is my son, Wakatoshi. Wakatoshi, this is Roy.” In a lowered tone, his father whispered. “Can you say hi to him? For me, please?”

“Hello,” Ushijima repeated flatly, like his father had taught him. “Nice to meet you.”

“Good job!” his father beamed, ruffling his hair aggressively. Ushijima blinked slightly with muted pride from the praise. Rarely did he see his father so happy. If it made his father so happy to say hello, Ushijima guessed that he didn’t mind doing so more often. Roy smiled widely, pushing forwards the girl at his side. She resisted.

“This is my daughter, [Name]. She’s pretty shy, but she won’t shut up once she gets into it.”

“Dad!” the girl whined with clenched fists, a redness flushing her cheeks. Ushijima stared at the patchy colour with faint interest. The girl then turned to look at him, her eyes meeting his. He quickly looked away and stepped behind his father.

“Wakatoshi-kun’s shy too?” Roy asked, laughing slightly. “Come on, men can’t be shy. Say hi to Wakatoshi, [Name]-chan.”

You merely shook your head stubbornly, your hands scrunching up the fabric of your skirt as you shoved them away deeper. He stared at you from behind his father’s leg. You looked back silently. He didn’t know what the expression on your face was. Why didn’t he know? The annoyance of it ticked him off and he looked at the ground instead, wishing he were home.

“He was just diagnosed with Asperger’s syndrome,” his father said in an apologetic tone. “So he has trouble opening up around people. Misses social cues. That sort of thing.”

“Ah, really now? Well, that should be no problem. My [Name] likes the quiet ones best.”

“Roy and I are going to go talk inside. Why don’t you play with [Name]-chan, Wakatoshi?” His father squatted low and placed his large hands on his shoulders, giving a reaffirming squeeze. Ushijima was already shaking his head.

“I don’t want to.”

“Hey, that’s kind of rude to [Name]-chan,” his father said lightly. Ushijima blinked. Was it? He was only speaking the truth. He didn’t know you so he didn’t care for you. His father sighed a bit, looking behind him. You weren’t looking at him anymore, merely tracing the ground with the heel of your blue shoes. His father looked at him again with a gentle smile. “Wakatoshi, you can do it. I trust in you. I believe in you. The two of you’ll make friends in no time.”

“Dad—” he started, _what if I don’t know how to be friends with her_ , but his father interjected before he could say anything else.

“Just be yourself!” his father reassured, getting up, already following Roy into the house. ‘Be yourself’—like that had gotten him anywhere before. ‘Himself’ was ‘Not like them’. The others only liked people like them. Ushijima was already used to it by now, but his father had asked him directly to be friends with you. He wanted to make his dad smile again, but he just… he just didn’t know how. You remained outside on the porch with him, giving him an analytical stare before looking away again.

“What’s Aspergers?” you asked suddenly, your voice quiet but genuinely curious.

“Why should I tell you?” he snapped. He then realized that his father would remind him ‘that was rude’ and shifted uncomfortably. “Sorry. I just don’t like people very much.”

“That’s okay. I don’t really like people either.”

‘Himself’ was ‘Not like them’—so what were ‘you’? Were you like them, or were you…

Like him?

You took your hands out of your pockets and fiddled with them. He watched you spin a ring around a small chubby finger. It was much too big for you and looked like it belonged to a woman instead. He watched it turn round your thumb.

“Do you want to go to the garden?” you brought up suddenly. “My dad has a swing.”

You looked up at him hesitantly and he looked back at you, for once, able to hold your gaze.

“Okay,” he decided.

You gave him a grin and the mood shifted. He could feel it shift. He knew it was shifting to a better, happier mood. For once he knew. He was an alien in the world of humans. He was a puzzle piece that didn’t fit; he was a robot that was wired different from the others.

But suddenly, he felt as if his piece had just clicked with somebody else’s.


	2. 2; Lupin (n.)

“That flower’s called a lupin flower. It usually grows in North America, but my mom brought some seeds back when she was abroad in Canada.”

Ushijima nodded. Normally when people talked, he found that he couldn’t focus on what they were saying. Words were understood but he didn’t process them. The other boys in his grade talked about girls or boogers or sports, but he didn’t follow. His teachers talked about math and science and literature and he just didn’t follow. But for some reason, whenever _you_ talked, your every word stuck into his brain like it was being tattooed onto each neuron. You reached over the balcony edge and pulled on the purple flower’s leaf, kicking your feet in the air from your position of lying on your stomach. 

“It got the name lupine because it was like a wolf,” you continued quietly. “People thought it robbed the soil like a villainous wolf. Some kill animals, too. But some are edible.”

“Is this one?” he asked.

“I don’t know, but I wouldn’t try it if I were you.”

“How do you know so much about flowers?” he questioned. You rolled onto your back and put your hands up in the air.

“My mom taught me.”

“Does she still teach you?”

“No… she died last year.” You suddenly rolled away from him. Wanting to keep you talking, he tried to think of another question to ask.

“How did she di—?” he was saying before Roy, your father, noticed the conversation. He suddenly butted in from the living room, speaking across the room to the open patio.

“Ah, Wakatoshi! Let’s not go there, okay?” Roy smiled a tight-lipped smile that looked just like his mother’s. “[Name]-chan might not like talking about that, right?”

“Why not?” he asked your father sincerely. “People die all the time, don’t they?”

A horrified glint appeared in Roy’s gaze and he shook his head rapidly.

“It’s not nice to remember bad things. If [Name]-chan wants to talk about it, she’ll tell you on her own time. Okay?”

Ushijima bit his lip with frustration but quieted. He gave you a glance, still lying on the floor, twirling a strand of hair distractedly. Had he hurt you? He’d never paid it much attention but after meeting you, he realized just how often people would scold him for saying something. When he asked why, the answer was the same. He’d done something to hurt somebody. Often times he would feel bad, because it had never been intentional. But he wouldn’t really care that much because he didn’t know them. Now, he really did care. He cared deeply. He didn't want to hurt you—he didn’t want _anything_ to hurt you. The girl who knew about flowers, the girl who he wanted to hear talk to him every second of his day—

“Wakatoshi?” you asked, waving a hand in front of his face. He blinked, inhaling sharply, not realizing he had been holding his breath. 

“What?” He blinked, squinting at your face as it came into focus.

“You were spacing out, not listening to me. You okay?”

“…I guess I am.” The panic faded when he saw you smile at him, the faint corners of your pink lips rising. “Are _you_ okay?” he added hastily.

“Me?” You looked confused but nodded. “Yeah, I’m okay. Why?”

“I was worried that you weren’t okay.”

“If I’m not okay, I’ll tell you. That’ll be a promise. ‘Kay?” You then scooted past him to the edge of the patio, where the heavy lupin flower swung in the lazy breeze. You plucked the largest flower with some difficulty and then handed it to him, cupping his larger hands in yours when he took it awkwardly. Your voice softened as you spoke. “Take these home to your mom and tell her you love her tonight. Okay?”

“Okay.” He paused for a second, before handing the flowers back to you. Your brow furrowed with confusion.

“What are you doing? I said to give these to your mom—”

“Yeah, but I love _you_.”

The weird redness he still didn’t really understand flushed your face and you shook your head rapidly, pushing the flower back towards his chest. 

“N-no, you don’t know what you’re saying, do you? Those are for your _mom_. Okay?” He didn’t know why you looked so flustered and you hid your face behind your hands. He raised an eyebrow but shrugged with grudging acceptance. 

“Okay.”


	3. 3; Loyalty (n.)

Even though his father was slowly drifting away, his words about volleyball hadn’t left Ushijima. The picture of an ace that people could rely on hit Ushijima hard and resonated deeply. 

He still feared people. They flat out _terrified_ him. They seemed to know everything and he didn’t, no matter how hard he tried to keep up with things. He was still scared of hurting them because of himself. But if they saw him as their ultimate pillar, maybe… maybe he could find real friends that way.

His mother saw it differently. 

“I don’t mind if you play,” she said sternly while smoothing back his hair. “But don’t hurt yourself like your father. And don’t hurt others like your father did.”

His grandmother was much harsher about it. 

_“All you do is talk nonsense about that sport! You hardly even talk at all. You don’t study or read, all you talk about is volleyball this, volleyball that…!”_

Ushijima didn’t want to study or read. Playing made him happy. It was the only thing that seemed to make him happy. He wanted to get good at it. He wanted to be the best at it. Math didn’t matter to him. Books didn’t matter. What mattered was that he became that pillar of support people would want in their lives. Volleyball would make him that somebody. He didn’t even know what his mother meant. His father couldn’t hurt anybody if he hurt himself. It would be the same for him, right? Who cared if he sprained a pinky or two? The only pain would be felt by himself.

“Mom,” he called. “[Name] and I are going to the gym to practice.”

“Oh… okay.” His mother seemed vaguely disappointed as she saw you off at the door. Her arms were crossed when she suddenly spoke up. “[Name], don’t you get tired of playing volleyball with Wakatoshi? I’m sure he wouldn’t mind if the two of you did something different.”

A lightning bolt of realization struck him.

All this time, he had been asking you to set for him. He wasn’t comfortable enough to approach the other kids at the common gym, but you had also been learning the sport and agreed. After you’d expressed your interest in the sport, he had done nothing but talk about volleyball with you. Wouldn’t that exhaust you? _Did_ he exhaust you? He gave you a guilty look but was surprised to see you shaking your head to his mother.

“No, I like volleyball. And it makes Wakatoshi happy, so I’m happy.” You smiled at him. “Ready to go?”

“Are you sure?” he asked you as the two of you walked to the gymnasium. You raised an eyebrow at him, your breath fogging like dragon’s smoke in the frigid air.

“Sure about what?”

“Sure that you’re happy. If you’re not happy then I’m not happy and I want you to be happy.” He paused to take a breath. “I like volleyball, but you’re important too. You’re more important. I can play by myself if you’re tired.”

“It’s no fun by yourself.” You suddenly slipped your hand in his and gave the fingers a reassuring squeeze through your knitted red mittens. “It’s fun with you. So I’m sure. I don’t mind helping you get good at volleyball. You’re going to be the ace, right?”

He nodded. 

“Then I’ll help you.” You grinned at him resolutely, letting go of his hand. Immediately, he reached out to grab it again.

“Thank you,” he said, spitting out the textbook response of gratitude his psychiatrist had taught him. But the warmth coming from his hands was much more telling than words could be and you wouldn’t stop smiling the whole way there, much to his own happiness.


	4. 4; Lour (v.)

The spring weather was mercurial and where it had been sunny the last day, the next was cold and gloomy. The sky loured down upon him and Ushijima glanced up, sighing slightly.

“Don’t look so sad,” you reminded at his side cheerily. “It’ll probably be sunny again soon.”

“Yeah.” He kicked a stone at his feet as the two of you waited for the bus. He had already asked you if you minded waiting with him since you were already within walking distance, but you’d always stuck around anyways, so he just got used to it. 

“Hey, [Name]-chan!” 

The voice of a classmate called and he turned to look as well, seeing a group of boys approach you. One gave him a snarky glare that he ignored, looking back down to the tiny pebbles he was scraping together into a neat pile.

“What’s up, Kogane-kun?” you asked.

“Are you and Ushijima dating?”

Ushijima’s foot froze in the gravel and you laughed nervously.

“Um… why would you ask that?”

“Because you’re always with him. But if you’re not dating, how about you date me?”

Ushijima’s head shot up and he stared at you as your brows knit together slowly. The other two boys that were backing Kogane up didn’t even pay Ushijima any mind. It was like he’d melted away into the background as a wallflower. 

“I’m not interested,” you said politely in a subtly strained voice. “Sorry, Kogane-kun.”

“Eh? You’re not? Why?”

“I’m just… not.”

“Don’t tell me you only like freaks like Ushijima. H-he doesn’t even talk. He looks like he’s always getting ready to kill everybody,” Kogane spat out caustically, his voice reedy. “He’s dumb, too. He won’t answer Sanada-sensei when she calls on him and he never does any homework—”

The words had little impact on him. Ushijima didn’t care about the opinions of others, save for his family’s or yours. But you surprised them all by stomping your foot and shouting,

“ _Shut up_!”

Kogane did, mid-sentence. Ushijima’s heart suddenly skipped into overdrive as he watched you, your fists trembling as fat tears welled in your eyes.

“Wakatoshi isn’t like that! He’s just… different! But he’s a better person than you are! So leave him alone, already!”

“You’re a freak too,” Kogane decided in a hoarse voice when you were finished screaming. Kogane shook his head as he backed away from you. “The two of you ‘re freaks. Frickin’ freaks!”

As they ran away, Ushijima turned his head slowly to look at you. You were rubbing tears from your eyes, your face a fiery motley of pink. You sniffled and he felt his body moving closer to you without his input.

“Why did you say those things?” he asked quietly. He was already taking his sleeve and brushing the tears off of your chin and nose. Your muted sobs seemed to quell when he touched you so he wrapped his arms around you, maximizing how much of you he could touch so that you would stop crying entirely.

“Because it’s the truth,” you hiccupped, your shorter arms wrapping around his neck. The touch comforted him. It was often that people would brush past him or clap him on the back, and he hated that. He hated being touched by people who didn’t know him. Holding you, warm and small and vulnerable—that made him feel all right. It made him feel better. 

“You shouldn’t have said that,” he remembered, letting go of you so that he could give you a stern look. “Now Kogane-san thinks you’re a freak too.”

“So?” you asked nasally, the stuffiness of your nose doing nothing to mask the fierce fervour in your voice. “Let him. See if I care.”

“No,” he argued. “I don’t care if he thinks I’m weird, but you’re not like me. You’re nice and warm and… people like you. They shouldn’t think you’re a freak.”

“Are you saying you’re not nice, Wakatoshi?” you asked quietly. Almost angrily, he replied,

“Yeah, that’s exactly what I’m saying.”

You hiccupped again, shaking your head a few times. “Then you really _are_ dumb, aren’t you? Wakatoshi, you’re the nicest person I know. And you’re the warmest. People like you too. You just have to give them a chance. And if they think you’re weird, _I_ like you.”

He opened his mouth to protest—tell you that you were wrong—but you pursed your lips and shut him up by kissing him. He didn’t shut his eyes like you had and merely watched your eyelashes flutter as you strained on your tippytoes, pulling on his jacket front so that his head would be closer to yours. He had outgrown you years ago. His thoughts drifted as you kissed him, but the fuzzy patterns all overlapped onto you. 

_I like you._

A cracking bolt of lightning rolled across the stormy sky and you jerked away, his heart breaking in the process as you back away a step. He reached out wordlessly but you shook your head.

“Your bus is coming,” you gasped breathlessly, eyes wild. The warm, salty taste of your tear-streaked lips remained on his and he blinked as you turned and ran away. Soon after, rain followed, drenching him through in no time flat. The bus driver honked loudly and he shook himself out of it, following the other waiting students and clambering onto the bus. The taste was gone. But the rain couldn’t wash away the burning in his heart.


	5. 5; Louvre (n.)

In the waiting room, there wasn’t much to do. His mother dropped him off at the therapist right after school, and his appointment didn’t start until 4 sharp, so he had hours to kill. There was no television, only a stack of books and bad-tempered elderly milling around. Ushijima had gotten to page 303 of the Japanese-English Revised Minidictionary, his focused eyes absorbing each letter diligently.

_**lout (n.)** clumsy ill-mannered young man._

An old woman had a hacking cough. A nurse tried to help her and the old woman screamed in response, flailing weakly. Ushijima’s concentration didn’t break and he continued, his crooked volleyball-damaged fingers following the kanji, his mind efficiently blurring out any that he didn’t know yet.

_**louvre (n.)** each of a set of overlapping slats arranged to admit air but exclude light or rain._

Overlapping slats. Your house had some of them over the shutters. They were painted green. He hadn’t seen you since you’d kissed that day after school. The memory of your house reminded him of you and a rush of emotion seized his heart.

You had been avoiding him. Weeks had passed and he hadn’t so much as caught a glimpse of you. Of course, he didn’t _want_ to be apart from you. All he ever wanted was to ask you questions. Why had you done it? Why had you run away right after? Why wouldn’t you talk to him now? But he didn’t think you would want to answer, so he kept it to himself and pretended not to be hurt. Love. Each of a set of overlapping slats—no, it wasn’t love, was it? It was—

“Wakatoshi-kun? The doctor will see you now.”

He put the book down and followed the nurse, holding in a heavy sigh of discontent.

\---

“You seem distracted, Wakatoshi-kun. Did something happen?”

The psychiatrist was supposed to be trained in helping autistic children open up to the world more. His grandmother had practically forced his mother to enrol him into the program, hoping that it might reset him into what a normal kid should act like. He didn’t find that anything was changing, and thought the sessions to be a huge waste of time and money. But the doctor’s question hit him hard and he bit his lip.

“I don’t know what to do,” he admitted. The doctor nodded thoughtfully and closed her clipboard. Ushijima had always hated the clipboard, knowing that the doctor was probably writing bad things about him all the time—so it relieved him to see it shut.

“What happened?” she asked gently.

“What do I do… when I love somebody?” 

“Is it a girl or a guy your age?” she asked, looking mildly surprised. He nodded slowly and then rapidly.

“Yes.”

“Do they make you happy?” she asked, a faint expression he didn’t recognize on her lips. Oh, it was happiness. But he couldn't smile back, remembering your panicked expression as you fled.

“Yes. But I think… that she’s not happy around me anymore.”

“Do you know that for sure, Wakatoshi-kun?” The psychiatrist’s eyes glimmered with nostalgia and she smiled wryly. “You won’t be able to move forwards if you’re afraid of the ‘what if’. And get this. What if… she loves you too?”

She didn’t open the clipboard for the rest of the session, and he did nothing but think about it.

Later that day, when his mother arrived to pick him up, he asked if they could swing by your house.

“Oh, [Name]-chan’s house? I haven’t seen her around lately.”

He shrugged wordlessly, not wanting to explain the situation. His mother sighed slightly but nodded.

“Okay, I’ll drop you off there. How was school?”

“Fine,” he lied, his golden eyes turned out the window with anxious anticipation as he remembered what the green slats of your house looked like.

\---

“That’s strange…” his mother mumbled as they stood out the front of your door. Nobody had answered. Ushijima wanted to ring the doorbell again but his mother ushered him back towards the car. “I guess they’re just out of the house.”

“But Roy’s car is in the driveway,” he argued, snatching his hand away from his mother’s. He pointed at the miniature four-wheeler, which sat in the driveway innocently. He looked back at his mother desperately. “What if [Name]’s hurt?!”

“‘What if she’s hurt’…? But you see her at school, don’t you?” Despite his mother’s attempt to be nonchalant, she eventually caved in with another sigh. “Fine. I suppose I can call your father just to be safe. Maybe he knows something. Okay? So let’s wait in the car, Wakatoshi.”

Although he wanted nothing more than to rip your door down with his own hands, he knew it would be best to listen to his mother. He pulled at his zipper as his mother dialled, her annoyance made clear with her loud sighs. 

“Takashi? Yes, it’s me. No, nothing’s wrong. Yes, Wakatoshi and I are fine. We were just wondering if something happened to Roy Okimura? Yes, Wakatoshi’s friend’s father. Oh. Oh, dear… No… I didn’t. What, really?” His mother gave Ushijima a knitted-brow look. From the expressions his psychiatrist had taught him, it had to be ‘worry’.

“Yes… I see. Yes, well, I’m sure he’ll want to see her if she’s there. Is it all right if we go? You’re sure? Okay, I’ll take him now.” She hung up and gave Ushijima the same look of textbook worry.

“[Name]-chan’s father is in the hospital,” she said carefully in a measured voice. “So she’s there right now, too. Do you want to go see her?”

“She’s hurt,” he realized quietly. Hot tears made his vision swim and he sat back in the chair, disgusted with the world. How could it do something like this to somebody so pure? “She’s hurt…”

The shutters of your window clattered against the wall with a breeze, reminding everybody of how empty the house was.


	6. 6; Loss (n.)

At the funeral, you didn’t cry. A lot of other people were sobbing but you weren’t even shedding tears. You sat stiffly beside your aunt or whoever it was, staring down at your feet disinterestedly. Burials weren’t popular anymore and Roy Okimura’s ashes sat in a gilded canister as the old churchman read off of a script. His father had told him not to say anything and sat beside Ushijima, pinching the top of his nose and looking away from the ceremony. All Ushijima could think about was why _you_ weren’t crying.

Once everything was over, he asked his father if he could go talk to you. His father jerked to attention and sniffled, wiping his eyes with a cloth.

“Yeah, but be careful about what you say. Okay?”

You were busy nodding and shaking hands with the people that came by to express their condolences. He waited by the sidelines impatiently until they cleared away. Then, he came up to you, watching your expression for any warning signs. 

“Wakatoshi,” you said, looking mildly surprised as your eyes widened with recognition. Your face fell again and you looked away. “I didn’t know you were here.”

“My father and I are.” He blinked, wondering what to say. “Are you okay?”

“Me?” You spat out a harsh, bitter laugh that he had never heard from you before. Kicking at the Earth angrily, you muttered in a cold voice. “First, my mom slits her wrists, and then my dad gets cancer… what’s next? They might as well kill me too.”

“[Name]?” he asked, startled, the black words coming out of your mouth sounding nothing like the girl who he used to know. 

“What, Wakatoshi?” you asked, your eyes finally meeting his. They were dull and dark, exhausted to a point that he couldn’t fathom a ten year old could be. 

“You promised me that you would tell me when you weren’t okay.”

“Oh, right… that was so long ago, wasn’t it?” You sighed and shook your head. “Fine. Here it is. I’m not okay. But what good does that do?”

He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know what to do. What he did know was that he wanted you to be okay again; somewhere where you weren’t hurt and could smile freely. But that smile had been stolen from your face and he didn’t think there was anything he could do. 

The priest had said ‘Today, we mourn the loss of Roy Okimura’. But he was mourning the loss of you.


	7. 7; Lopsided (adj.)

It felt like everything had gone wrong.

“You’re moving?” he asked quietly. You’d been pretty scarce since your father’s death and what with junior high coming to an end, he hardly saw you at all. He’d been relieved when you’d asked to come over, but now he wished he’d never agreed so that he didn’t have to hear what you were saying. Your words were empty as you spoke, looking down almost disinterestedly. 

“My grandma said that she can’t take care of me here forever. All of my dad’s family still lives in America or France. And my aunt doesn’t want to move to Miyagi… so I’m going to have to move to Hokkaido.” You sighed heavily, your shoes clacking together as you swung them from your seat on the swing. He swung besides you, his own feet scraping against the ground. He’d outgrown the swings early in life and his shoes filled with sand that he ignored.

“That’s…” he didn’t know what else to say so he merely stayed quiet. Your swing creaked each time you moved and you sighed.

“Yeah. It bites.”

“I don’t want you to move,” he blurted out suddenly, his thoughts tumbling out of his mouth before he could stop himself. His father had already said goodbye just last year, flying overseas for military operations. If he had to lose you, too—!

“I don’t want to either,” you replied, your voice small. You stopped swinging by planting your foot into the ground and looked at him. “I really… want to stay… with you.”

_That’s what I want too. That’s all I want! So please…_

“But I have to go,” you continued, looking away. “I don’t have a choice. It’s not like I can become emancipated… and my aunt’s really strict, so it’s not like anything I say matters. She’ll just shut me down.” You sighed through your nose and turned upside down in the swing, the ends of your hair brushing against the sand. You looked up at him like that and he looked down at you, your frown almost looking like a smile.

“You’re really leaving?” he asked again. Ushijima hadn’t cried since being born, apparently. Even when he’d broken half the bones in his body, he didn’t cry. He just grit his teeth and kept moving forwards. But suddenly, at the old-enough-not-to-cry age of 15, he felt the well of emotion close his throat and tighten sore tendons in his jaw. You were crying too and you sat up, the tears falling down your cheeks in fat droplets. He reached out and clumsily brushed them away from your nose.

“Don’t cry,” he muttered, feeling stupid for not being able to say anything better. He felt trapped in his own mind again, unable to help the one he loved—because yeah, he loved you, and he didn’t want you anywhere but by his side.

“I’m sorry,” you apologized, pressing your fists into your eyes. You sniffled for a while but your efforts to stop crying weren’t successful and suddenly you were sobbing, your entire body trembling in the swing seat.

“It’s not fair!” you screamed out suddenly, as if the words had torn their way out of your throat. “Why do these things keep happening to me!? I hate it! I _hate it_!”

Ushijima felt broken as he watched you. He got up and pulled you off of the swing into his arms, letting you fall against him. You used to be so bright and warm and strong, but now… now you cried, anguish and anger and angst pouring out of you with each tear drop.

“I want you to stay,” he muttered to the top of your head as you pawed at the front of his shirt. “I…”

“I want… to stay… too. But…” you forced each word between sobs, your syllables muffled as you buried your face into his chest. “But I can’t… and it’s not f… fair…”

Ushijima wasn’t familiar with hugging or rubbing people’s back or anything like that. The best thing he could do was shield you, allowing you to use him as your pillar of support. It felt wrong. All these years he had relied on you, leant on _you_. You had guided him through his own path of insecurity and feeling you fall against him…

It was wrong. It was all lopsided and wrong.

“I love you,” he muttered suddenly, frantically, as if it might correct the situation. You only kept crying, holding him tighter.

“I know!” you blurted out, “and I love you too, which is why… it’s… it’s not fair!”

It wasn’t fair. So he did the best he could and just shielded you, allowing you to lean on him.


	8. 8; Luck (n.)

Ushijima didn’t believe in luck. If you relied on a supernatural force to help you win, then you were probably a crap player in the first place. He was the opposite of that—he worked hard so that he didn’t _need_ luck to win. Still, it didn’t hurt to avoid certain things. He wore the same shoes for as long as he could because breaking in new ones might cause trouble. He tried not to change up the brand of ball because it might have an impact on how he served. It was ridiculous superstition and he was probably being hypocritical, but that was just how he carried himself.

He didn’t even consider himself to be very lucky in the first place. He was born with a brain that made him as useful as a tile on the floor in social situations. The one girl he’d fallen in love with had booked herself a one-way trip to Hokkaido, kilometres on kilometres away. The memory of that was still painful and if there was anything Ushijima was spiteful about, it was that he’d met and loved you too early, too much. 

“Whoa!” Tendou shouted, even making fake binoculars with his hands as the ball Ushijima spiked flew up to the roof. Ushijima landed and looked up, watching the ball smack against the trussed beams in the ceiling before falling back down, hard.

“Sorry,” he called to the people who scattered away from it. He shook his head and swiped beads of sweat off his forehead, slicking his hair back. Tendou jogged up to him and elbowed him in the ribs.

“What’s up, Wakatoshi?” the guy he’d only just met teased. To himself, Ushijima wondered what Tendou’s first name was, and how he’d figured out his own so quickly. “Something on your mind? Whose face is on that ball you’re hitting~?”

“Nobody’s,” he replied honestly. _Only the face of the entire damn universe._ He was taken aback by the redhead’s desire to talk to him when Ushijima hadn’t made an effort to speak to anybody but the coach. He recalled something you had said to him, so long ago:

_“Wakatoshi, you’re the nicest person I know. And you’re the warmest. People like you too. You just have to give them a chance. And if they think you’re weird, I like you.”_

The memory made his chest feel tight. Still, he looked down at the oddball Tendou, who had started humming a tune to himself openly without a care in the world. 

“Tendou-san?” he asked slowly, feeling strange for being the one to initiate a conversation in so long. Tendou didn’t seem to notice and perked up.

“Yeah?”

“…nothing.” Ushijima wasn’t sure on how to continue, but Tendou didn’t even seem to mind.

“Hey, if you need anything, just let me know. We’re friends, got that? I’m your best pal now so there’s no getting rid of me!” Tendou laughed just as the whistle blew. He waved and Ushijima waved back stiffly as he sprinted back to his side of the court to prep for six-on-sixes. 

Best friend, huh.

Maybe he was lucky after all. He’d met you in the first place, and even though you weren’t around now, your impact on him lingered. And he was lucky for that. 

His streak of good fortune didn’t end there. Because although he didn’t know it yet, a certain girl was currently checking into her dorm room at Shiratorizawa Academy…


	9. 9; Lucerne (n.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> stay tuned for the next and last chapter!

“Yeah, it’s kind of weird. They call it ‘alfalfa’ in North America, but other countries call it ‘lucerne’. Or so I’ve heard.”

Ushijima was making his way through the cafeteria, loading rice onto his tray when a strand of somebody’s conversation caught his attention. Who talked about alfalfa with such vigour? Did anybody even _care_ that much? He was about to turn to look before remembering it wasn’t his business, and that it was rude to be eavesdropping in the first place. He thanked the lunch lady as she placed a bowl of miso onto his tray and turned to find an empty seat.

“How about over there, Wakatoshi?” Tendou asked, pointing with a long finger as he held onto his own tray. Ushijima gave a short nod of approval, the girl’s voice still loud enough for him to hear.

“Lucerne is prettier, don’t you think? It reminds me of this flower I used to have in my garden. It was called… um… a lupin flower.”

Ushijima turned so quickly that the soup knocked over, spilling on his tray.

There you sat.

Really? Could it be that easy? It was like a dream. Was it _really_ you or was he mistaking it, his grief of missing you so powerful that he was overlapping his memories onto other people’s faces? It had only been a year since you’d left… there was no way you could be back just like that. ‘You’ talked animatedly with some other girl, your head in your hands. Your hair had gotten considerably longer and looked dyed. It wasn’t too different, but subtle enough that he couldn’t be sure if it was really you.

“Jeez, what’s up? Did you slip or something?” Tendou turned to look at what Ushijima was staring at and noticed you. “ _Oh_ , oho. I see. She your type, Wakatoshi? She’s cute.”

“I… I think I used to know her,” Ushijima muttered. He shook his head. There was no way it could be you. He’d lost contact with you months ago and you’d never said anything about coming back to Miyagi before then. “Nevermind. Sorry.”

“Excuse me! Yeah, you, the pretty one—oh, well, the _other_ pretty one! Yes, you!”

“Tendou-san?!” Ushijima hissed under his breath, freezing on the spot. His voice carried more emotion than ever before as he hissed with panic, “what are you _doing_?”

“Hey, you’re a real shy guy. If you like somebody, you can trust in your best bud—that’s me—to help you out.” Tendou gave a conspiratorial wink and started waving wildly with an arm as if he were calling an airplane down. “Can you come here for a second, dear?”

“Um… who are you?” you asked, suddenly right behind Ushijima. His heart kicked into overdrive. He’d never been this nervous, not even before a game. Was it you? Was it you? Was it really you? 

“What’s your name? My friend thinks you’re cute.”

“Well… your friend can ask me himself.” You laughed slightly, the cheekiness of your tone just like he had remembered it. “But it’s [Surname] [Name].”

He turned slowly to look at you closely. You were just taking a step to walk back to your friend when you paused, a petrified goodbye etched on your lips. Your eyes traced his face and you cocked your head slightly.

“Wakatoshi…?” you asked hoarsely. 

“Yes,” he responded stiffly. 

“You’re… oh my god, you’re—”

“I need to talk to you.” He thrust his tray towards Tendou, who spluttered indignantly as he got soup spilled over his front. Ushijima grabbed your wrist and yanked you forwards, dragging you out of the cafeteria. You trailed behind, stumbling awkwardly as he started to jog.

“Toshi-kun!” you yelped, the old pet name sounding so strange yet familiar in his ears. “Where are we _going_?!”

He burst through the side exit doors and lead you to a corner of the courtyard. You were panting, probably from having to keep up with him, but still, he didn’t let go. He pointed at one of the flowers.

“What is that?” he demanded, his heart jumping in his throat and mangling his tone so that he sounded nearly hysterical. “Can you tell me what that is?”

“Yeah, that’s… that’s a lupin flower.” You were breathing hard, red-faced, but you were confident in your answer. You pointed at the leaves. “Don’t you remember?”

“It’s really you,” he realized aloud, almost dumbly so. He stared at you as you caught your breath, tucking hair behind your ears and fanning the blush off your cheeks.

“I wanted to tell you, but your e-mail wasn’t working, and your phone wasn’t… so I thought you just didn’t want to talk to me.” You looked down with a pained expression, and he suddenly saw himself, hurting because he’d thought you’d wanted nothing more to do with him. 

“But… your aunt?” he asked. 

“She agreed to let me dorm back in Miyagi at Shiratorizawa since it’s such a prestigious school. I didn’t know you were still here… I thought you—you must’ve moved, or—”

Swiftly, he quieted your stumbling words with a rough kiss. He was inexperienced and it was sloppy, at best, and he had no idea what in the hell he was doing—but you accepted him. You curled your arms around his neck and tugged him down to your height, his own hands encircling you to make sure that yes, you really _were_ there. You pulled away from him for air and he kissed you again, over and over, each time reaffirming it to himself. You were here. You were here, and you were _his_. 

“I knew it was you when I heard somebody talking about a plant as if it were the most interesting thing in the world,” he admitted, resting his chin atop of your head. Your mother had been a travelling florist while alive, and that was how you had become so interested in flora. Your forehead pressed into his chest. 

“It _is_ interesting. I can say the same to you about volleyball. Do you still play?”

“Yes, of course.” 

It felt so nice to… _talk_ with you again. It wasn’t even being able to touch you or anything like that that made him so happy, although those were bonuses. But hearing you talk to him again; sharing a casual conversation that eliminated his worries of slipping up or misinterpreting something because of being an Aspie—he had missed that the most. He had missed this ease. He had missed you so, so much. 

“You the ace yet?” you asked, your fingers curling around his shirt as if to tighten your hold on him.

“I would think so,” he said modestly. His own hands were gripping you unnecessarily tightly as if you’d vanish again.

Instead, you laughed. “Wakatoshi, you haven’t changed.”

“Was I supposed to?” he asked, genuinely curious. You pulled away a bit and looked up at him, a bright grin on your face.

“No,” you said firmly. “No. Because I love you the way you are.”


	10. 10; Love (n.)

“Hey,” you greeted at his door chirpily. He raised an eyebrow but didn’t question it too much—girls weren’t allowed to even _be_ in the boy’s dorms, but you had somehow made his room your second home anyways. It wasn’t as if he minded and tension drained from his shoulders at the sight of your familiar face.

“How was training?” you asked, collapsing back into his bed. He kicked off his shoes and sat next to you, lying down heavily and causing you to bounce into him. His arms automatically went around you and you leant your head to his chest, the feeling of your weight on him comforting him further. 

“It was fine,” he replied. “How was your day?”

“Not bad. Better now, though.” Your soft voice was a tickling whisper against his chest. You curled around him after drawing up the blanket for the both of you and fuzzy warmth filled his heart. Tendou and the others made fun of his relationship with you, calling the both of you an ‘old domesticated married couple’. He didn’t care if his relationship didn’t fit the normal criteria for a highschooler. He felt safe with you. He felt best just talking with you about arbitrary things like the weather. He felt loved and he loved equally, even more every day. 

He had said it many times before, not really knowing what it meant. He was only repeating what he saw. Did he love his parents? Of course, but he hadn’t known that there was a different kind of love than that. The word had just been a scramble of letters on page 304 of the dictionary to him. Nothing more and nothing less. ‘Love’ was merely a couple of letters placed after loquacious but before lubricious. 

He just hadn’t realized when the definition had become your name.

“Are you tired?” you asked in a cute, sleepy voice, rubbing his arm. “You didn’t push yourself again, did you?”

“I’m fine. But if you sleep here, you might not make it back to your room, since the patrol might catch you.”

“Then, is it okay if I sleep here?” you asked slyly, already knowing the answer. He sighed shortly but a gentle smile appeared on his face. You blinked up at him, propping yourself up on an elbow.

“What is it?” you asked curiously. “You look like you’re in a good mood.”

“It’s nothing. I’m just happy.”

“Oh.” You looked embarrassed by his answer—he had memorized your facial expressions by now— and buried your face back into his chest. “Okay.”

“Have I told you?” he murmured, closing his eyes as he measured the rise and fall of your breathing. “I love you.”

“Oh… okay.” 

He opened his eyes and saw you clutching the fabric of his shirt, your legs wrapping around his tightly under the blanket. You pulled away and looked up at him, blushing hotly, looking very much like you had when he’d first met you as a child.

“I love you too.”

“But I love you most.”

You groaned. “This isn’t a competition…”

“I’m winning.”

“Wakatoshi!”

The night went on like that, but not once did you leave his side. You talked about nothing and everything and it felt like nothing and everything all at once. He didn’t even want to fall asleep, not wanting to be without you. So not once did he doubt it—you were his puzzle piece, the thing that made him whole. He wasn’t broken or messed up or wrong. He was yours. And, thank God, because you were his. It wasn’t just a word on the 304th page anymore.

Not once did he doubt it: he loved you.

**Author's Note:**

> Elsewhere: https://goo.gl/RQ3d7K


End file.
